


In the Name of the Father

by Nefaria_Black



Series: Companions to Birds become Dragons [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Augurey, Azkaban, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Gen, Jealousy, Lost Love, Madness, Mourning, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Resentment, prayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefaria_Black/pseuds/Nefaria_Black
Summary: Rodolphus' mind is torn by Dementors, but there is one thing he must keep secret, even when his mind rambles. Side-piece to Birds become Dragons that stands completely on its own.





	In the Name of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This piece involves a play of words on religious matters. If you are not comfortable with catholic prayers and beliefs being deconstructed for the purpose of fiction, go no further. I was raised a catholic, which is why I feel comfortable doing this. I'm happy to discuss points of view and backgrounds but I will not have rants about being disrespectful, blasphemous, heretic and such. :Warning over
> 
> Another side-piece to Birds become Dragons that doesn’t parallel any chapter in particular. It also stands perfectly on its own, so if you are not reading my fic, or just haven’t yet *a bit of wishful thinking never hurt anyone* you won’t be missing any pieces.
> 
> A look into Rodolphus torn mind during his second imprisonment in Azkaban. Enjoy, please leave me your thoughts at the end.

**In the Name of the Father**

 

Every time the sun comes up, he resents it. Another day he has to go through, another stale piece of bread on his plate. Another day throughout which he must keep his mind together, keeping the secret buried inside, deep inside. It is the one thing his days revolve around. His nights are easier.

He has dreams. Vivid dreams that strike his shattered mind like the lightning strikes the churning seas around this tower. His nightmares are even worst. For his dreams are always of her. Only of her. He is close to her again, he can touch her again, he can love her completely. She is happy again, she is laughing like she used to when they were young, she is smiling to him. He very seldom dreams.

Most of his nights are consumed by nightmares. Not always the ones that wake him up and leave him shivering and panting. The ones where his Master is present and His anger palpable. Those aren’t the ones he fears. The ones that break him are much more ordinary. He dreams of her, but He is there. With her. Taking her for Himself, in all the possible ways. His precious omen is in some nightmares too. Sometimes, the precious augurey of his Master is still inside his precious Bella. The reason he is here, after all, is the thing that haunts him the most.

He never forgets why he has done it. Why he stayed behind that day. Why he lied to the world. Why he lived.

 

In the name of the Father he had fought.

Oh, that dark angel of wrath and destruction to whom her love commits him here. In this forgotten place owned and commanded by misery.

_Be at my side, Bella. Please be at my side, light me, guard me, rule me and guide me. Please, please Bella, help me keep my mind another day, don’t let me spill your secret._

His Master’s secret. He who terrifies him so, even in death. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. Glory be to the Father of the one who keeps him here.

The glory had been His, all of it. His first coming was dark enough, but his second coming… that had been a proper kingdom of terror, may it never come again. His will ruling all of Wizarding Britain. His power that led them all into damnation, delivering them all to evil. Truth be told, they were all willing, for one reason or another. The first to sanctify His name, to refuse mentioning it in adoration.

_Bella._

 

In the name of the Father and the Daughter he had stayed behind, keeping their secret.

His mind is broken. There are too many cracks to count. They keep coming and taking. Coming and taking. Taking, and taking, and taking.

He's left with despair, and cold, and emptiness, and the memories he would rather not keep. The memories of the fruit of her womb, that he wished for so many times and was never granted. Not to him. Only to Him.

His holy queen. His most devout.

Oh no one knew the true meaning of devotion and adoration but Him. Because she had taught Him. Because she had hallowed His name before their world, for all to see. Only she was His entirely and only she had ever been chosen among the women to be at their Lord’s side.

Mercy was never hers, forgiving trespassers was never the faintest possibility. Her adoration was offered in bodies and minds. Both hers and those of His foes.

She had been the chalice to His blood, the receptacle through which He had truly become flesh. Glory be to the Daughter.

_Bella._

In the name of the Father and the Daughter and the Holy Mother he had lived. He had not taken his own life that day. And how he would if he could repent.

How he remembers her, that woman full of grace, amongst the red lights that night. She had been his life and his hope, even if she saved most of her sweetness for Him alone. To him she only gave enough to keep him at her side, at their Master’s side, saving him. To her he had cried, the poor banished creature of her garden in paradise. To her does he send up his sighs, mourning and weeping in this tower of death.

They, the black putrid spectres, took all the happy memories of her, all those times they had been happy together, even if she was never happy for him. Only for Him.

He remembers mostly the bringer of doom their Master enjoyed unleashing. The most gracious killer, turning her eyes of fury towards His enemies, the all-consuming fire of her devotion shining through, channelled in her spells, offering more corpses to her almighty Lord. But that night she was holy herself in her wrath. Lost in her despair, the ground beneath her feet escaping her because she had lost her Master, her reason for being. Chastising those that dared not only deny Him but to stand in His path. She had showed them the weight of their sins, and made them pay with their minds. Another offering to a Lord she could no longer see, no longer touch, but that she would always obey. She never lost faith. O wrathful, O unloving, O sweetless Bella. Glory be to the Holy Mother.

_Bella._

 

Never his, but ever his prayer. Even when she was round with His child, the cursed fruit of her womb. The messiah He made, with her, from her flesh, to bring forward His own greatness, His last kingdom that would last forever. Glory be to the Father and to the Daughter and to the Holy Mother.

The Lord is gone and so is her. The girl remains and so does his fear. The world must never know that she is His too. May His kingdom never come. Thy will not be done.

In the name of the Father and the Daughter and the Holy Mother.

_Bella._


End file.
